


Your reality.

by OTPGirl



Category: Hatchetfield Universe - Team StarKid
Genre: Longing, M/M, Missed Opportunity, Song fic, don't know what else to tag this, wilbur to wiley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:20:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29688024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OTPGirl/pseuds/OTPGirl
Summary: A little look into the life of Wilbur Cross and his pining after Private John McNamara.
Relationships: Wilbur Cross/John McNamara, Xander Lee/John McNamara
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	Your reality.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the cover of "Your Reality." By Lollia. You should definitely go listen to it.

_Every day I imagine a future where I can be with you._

  
Wilbur Cross is many things. Loyal, stubborn to a fault, a hard worker. One thing that he’s not, is blind. He notices Private John McNamara very early on into the other man’s career. He’s handsome, he’s strong, he’s got eyes that can pierce your soul. Wilbur would have to be an idiot not to be the slightest bit attracted to him, and Wilbur is no idiot. 

As Wilbur works with him, he learns there’s much more to John than just his looks (there would have to be for him to have been recruited to PEIP). He’s sweet, and kind, and has a bleeding heart, and cares deeply about everyone he meets. Wilbur’s surface-level crush very quickly grows into something deeper. Something real. 

He can easily see himself spending a lifetime with John, one full of joy and happiness, and love. He can see himself falling asleep next to him and waking up together. He can see sleepy mornings and long days at work with John. He can see good times, and bad times, heartbreaks, and triumphs, and most of all, being side by side through it all.

  
_In my hand is a pen that will write a poem of me and you._

  
Wilbur has never been the biggest fan of poetry. Don’t get him wrong. It’s fine. He has nothing against it. It’s all just a bit too… flowery for him to properly enjoy. 

John, on the other hand, loves poetry. He constantly quotes the classics, Walt Whitman, William Shakespeare, Edgar Allen Poe, Agatha Christie, Oscar Wilde, the list goes on and on. So, Wilbur has decided to try his hand at penning a poem for John, hoping that he’ll finally find a way to express his feelings for the other man. 

He sits surrounded by dozens and dozens of crumpled up and discarded pieces of paper. Nothing seems right. Nothing seems good enough for John. He deserves only the best, and Wilbur is determined to give it to him. 

Once or twice, he’s thought that he came close, only to go back a realize what he’s written is nothing short of horrible. Nothing anywhere close to being good enough for John. Wilbur drops his head into his hands, elbows propped up on his desk. He’s been working at this for hours and is still no closer than he was when he started. Maybe the problem isn’t the poetry. Maybe it’s Wilbur.

Maybe he’s not good enough for John. 

_The ink flows down into a dark puddle,_

  
Wilbur jerks up, snapping into alertness from his deep sleep. His neck is stiff, and his back pops from the sudden, violent movement. His eyes dart around the room, trying to figure out where he is. It takes him a moment to realize that he’s in his quarters, but not his bed. It appears that he fell asleep at his desk while trying to find the right words for John. He glances down and lets out a frustrated groan. The pen he had been using burst, leaving a dark, half-dry puddle of ink near the center. 

Wilbur grabs a tissue from the standard-issue bedside table and tries his best to clean up the mess. He manages to get the excess ink off the wood, but it leaves behind a dark stain. 

_Just move your hand, write the way into his heart._

  
He’s finally done it! Wilbur has finally written something he feels is worthy of John. It’s taken him weeks, months, really, but he’s finally done it. Now the only thing left is to figure out how to give it to him. 

_But in this world of infinite choices, what will it take just to find that special day?_

  
There are so many ways for Wilbur to get this right, but there are just as many, if not more, ways for him to get this wrong. 

He decides not to hand it to John, but slips it into his locker in the ready room. He also decides against signing his name at the bottom of the poem. 

Is it a tab bit… childish? Almost like a high schooler afraid to admit his crush? Sure. But Wilbur reassures himself with the fact that he’s John’s superior officer, and he doesn’t want the other man to feel any pressure. 

He does get to see John open it, though. 

John opens his locker, and a folded piece of paper falls out and to the floor. Wilbur keeps his gaze on his own locker, only able to see John out of the corner of his eye. Still, it’s enough to see John glance around once or twice before picking up the paper and slowly unfolding it. As he reads it, his expression morphs from one of confusion and a tad bit of worry, to the smallest smile with a light blush decorating his cheeks. John gently folds the paper back up and tucks it into his vest. 

If Wilbur has a bit more of a spring in his step for the rest of the day, well, no one has the guts to say anything about it. 

_What will it take just to find… that special day?_

  
Wilbur enjoys using the gym at night. It’s quieter, less people around due to most of the agents sleeping at this time. He pushes the door open and what he sees causes his blood to run cold. 

John’s in the gym, but he’s not alone. He and another man, one whom Wilbur can’t seem to identify at the moment, probably due to how much of his face is blocked by John’s head, locked in what seems to be a very passionate kiss. 

The door slips from Wilbur’s fingers, and it closes with a slam. The nose seems to get John’s attention, and he pulls away from the other man with a gasp. 

“Colonel! I- I apologize. I was unaware that you had entered.” John’s voice is breathy, his hair a mess and his cheeks flushed. 

He looks beautiful. 

Wilbur drags his attention off of John and to the other man. With his face no longer obscured, he realizes the man looks familiar. It takes him another few moments to remember his name. Private Alexander Lee, he joined around the same time as John. 

“This is not the appropriate place for such actions.” Wilbur’s voice is harsher than he intended it to be, but he doesn’t feel a lot of regret. John’s gaze drops to the floor, and his hands clasp behind his back. Alexander glances between John and Wilbur for a moment before squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath. 

“I apologize, sir. It was my fault, and I take full responsibility.” His voice is monotone, betraying no emotion. There are many things Wilbur wants to say to him, but none of them are professional. 

“The two of you are to return to your quarters.” Is all he can manage. John and Alexander both take their leave, but not before Alexander touches John’s arm gently, reassuringly. 

“Lee!” Wilbur snaps. They both look at him. “Don’t let it happen again.” They leave, and after giving them a head start, Wilbur follows back to the wing with the private quarters. 

He’s suddenly not in any mood to workout. 

_Have I found everybody a fun assignment to do today?_

  
“You all have your orders. Get to work.” Wilbur is in full Colonel mode. He’s currently in charge of a small team tasked with the job of taking down what can only be described as a shapeshifter. 

Wilbur has ordered everybody to pair up with the logic that it will be harder for the shapeshifter to replace one of them if no one is alone for even a second. To Wilbur’s displeasure, John quickly pairs up with Alexander. The two of them share an overly fond look before buckling down and getting to work. 

Wilbur tries not to glare at the pair, or seethe at how close they’re standing, but he doesn’t quite succeed. 

It takes many long hours, but they finally manage to take down the shapeshifter. Everyone makes it out alive, if not a bit bruised. They all pile into their transport and start the eight-plus hour trip back to base. 

Less than an hour in, and almost every agent is asleep, and Wilbur’s not far behind them. He decides, as the senior officer on the mission, to look around the vehicle one last time, take a survey and make sure everyone is okay. 

The last agents he sees are John and Alexander. They’re curled around each other as much as they can be. John’s head is resting against Alexander’s shoulder, his falling out from his low ponytail and fanning out over the other man’s shoulder. His eyes are closed and, even while asleep, he looks happy. Alexander’s head is tilted back against the wall of the vehicle, his arm wrapped protectively around John, holding him close. Wilbur can’t see his eyes, but he’s willing to bet that he’s asleep. 

Suddenly, Wilbur isn’t tired. 

_When you’re here, everything that we do is fun for them anyway._

  
Not every mission goes as well as that one did. Sometimes people get hurt, or don’t make it out. It never gets easier to lose people. Every life he loses weighs on Wilbur’s shoulders. It’s his fault, after all. As the commanding officer, he’s responsible for every life that he leaves the base with, and when they don’t make it home, he’s failed. 

“There is no night without a dawning.” The soft sound of John’s voice pulls Wilbur out of his thoughts. He looks over and sees the other man sitting against the wall. He’s gazing at nothing and seems to not even notice that he’s speaking. 

“No winter without a spring. And beyond the dark horizon, our hearts will once more sing.” As he speaks, the other agents turn their attention to him, but he doesn’t notice any of them. 

For those who leave us for a while, have only gone away. Out of a restless, care worn world, into a brighter day.” 

“That was beautiful, John,” Wilbur says, startling him out of his own private world. 

“I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t-” Wilbur raises a hand, halting John’s words. 

“No apology necessary. In fact, do you know more? I think it would be great to get everyone’s mind off of what happened.” John gives him a weak smile and nods. He falls silent for a moment before speaking again. 

If I should go tomorrow, it would never be goodbye…” Wilbur lets his eyes flutter shut, and his head rest against the wall, letting John’s soft tone ease his worry. John continues to recall pomes for the rest of the trip back to base, and the mood seems just a tad bit lighter. 

_When I can’t even read my own feelings, what good are words when a smile says it all?_

  
Wilbur hates how distant he’s been with John. Ever since Wilbur caught him with Alexander, Wilbur knows that he’s been sharper with John, quicker to point out his mistakes or snap at him. He doesn’t mean to, but he just can’t help it. 

He wants to tell John that he’s the one who wrote the poem, wants to confess how head over heels he is. But every time he tries to, he can feel the words get stuck in his throat. Wilbur is still John’s superior officer, and, as far as Wilbur can tell, John is still involved with Alexander. 

“Keep up the good work, Private.” Wilbur praises John, not even truly paying attention, to caught up in his own head. 

“Thank you, sir.” Wilbur looks over at John and sees him smiling up at Wilbur. That smile sends Wilbur’s heart into a tizzy. 

_And if this world won’t write me an ending, what will it take just for me to have it all?_

  
PEIP has been looking into what they call ‘The Black and White’, and Wilbur can’t help but feel drawn to the project. It’s almost like something, or someone, is whispering to him. Pulling him closer, begging him to get closer. 

A team is assembled, tasked with focusing solely on ‘The Black and White.’ Wilbur all but demands to be on the team. The general finally caves in and places him not only on the team, but in charge of it. 

It’s taking a long time for them to complete the portal, and the longer it takes, the more irritable Wilbur gets. 

Private Lee, despite being a relatively new recruit, is extremely smart when it comes to theoretical physics, and that gets him but on ‘The Black and White’ team, meaning that he and Wilbur are working closely together. 

As much as Wilbur wishes he could find something wrong with the man, something wrong with his work. But he can’t. Alexander is an amazing scientist and an incredibly hard worker. 

“Sir, may I speak to you?” Wilbur looks up from his paperwork to see Private Lee standing there at attention. 

“At ease.” Xander’s posture relaxes, his hands folded loosely behind his back. “What can I do for you?” 

“By the end of next week, the portal should be complete. I would like to request that I be the agent to go into the Black and White.” 

Wilbur’s blood boils. How dare he? How dare he try to take this away from Wilbur, when he’s already taken so much, already taken John. 

“Request denied.” He hisses. “I will be the one to go in.”

“Sir, with all due respect, do you really think that is wise-”

“What I think is ‘wise’ is for you to not argue with me, Private,” Wilbur speaks sharply, leaving no room for argument. 

“Yes, sir.” Alexander is clearly not happy, but knows better than to make Wilbur even angrier. 

“Dismissed.” Alexander turns on his heel and leaves Wilbur’s office, the door closing behind him. As soon as the door is shut, Wilbur grabs the first thing his hand touches on his desk and throws it across the room. The glass paperweight shatters on impact, sending shards of glass across the floor. 

‘Come to me, Wilbur, and I’ll give you everything that you’ve ever wanted. Come to the Black and White.’ A voice whispers in the back of his mind. Wilbur needs to go to the Black and White, and he’s not going to let anyone get in his way. 

No matter what. 

_Does my pen only write bitter words for those who are dear to me?_

  
“You’re issuing me an admonition?” John’s clearly trying not to raise his voice, but he fails miserably. 

“Watch your tone, Private.” Wilbur firmly tells him. John closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He rolls his shoulders back and opens his eyes, anger still visible in them. 

“Wilbur-” 

“Colonel.” Wilbur corrects. He’s gotten into the habit lately of letting John call him by his first name when they’re in private. But not now. 

“Colonel,” John repeats. “What have I done to warrant this?” 

“Your behavior with Private Lee has been inappropriate as of late. This action needs to change.” 

“Inappropriate-? Are you talking about what happened in the gym?” 

“It’s not only that-”

“I can’t believe this! I thought you were my friend!” John interrupts. 

“I am your superior officer, McNamara. You would do well to remember that.” That seems to get through to John. 

“Is there anything else? Sir.” John says through gritted teeth. 

“That will be all. Dismissed.” Wilbur barely has the words out of his mouth before John storms out. The door slams shut, and Wilbur turns back to the form he was working on. Soon, all of this will be worth it. He knows it. 

It has to be. 

_Is it love if I take you, or is it love if I set you free?_

  
Wilbur passes the gym and hears noises coming from inside. He glances down at his watch and notes that it’s 2:28 in the morning. Wilbur goes in, wanting to make sure that whoever it is is alright. 

What he’s not expecting to see when he opens the door is John, going to town on a punching bag, hair down from his usual ponytail.

Shirtless. 

They’re both off duty, so it’s more than fine for Wilbur to approach him as a friend. 

“What did that punching bag ever do to you?” He teases. John turns and glares at Wilbur for a second before turning back the punching bag. His efforts doubled. “John, talk to me.” 

“Why do you hate me? What did I do?” Wilburs brian short circuits for a moment. John thinks… that Wilbur hates him? He could not be more wrong about that. 

“John, I don’t hate you. What on earth made you think I did?” 

“You’ve been so distant lately, and you always seem so angry with me, especially since-” John stops talking and looks like he just realized something. “This has something to do with the Black and White, doesn’t it?” 

“What? No! Why would you think that?” 

“If it’s not that, then what is it?” Wilbur can feel something brewing deep inside of him, something that he tries to push down. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Wilbur denies venomously. John takes a step closer to Wilbur, bringing them nearly chest to chest. 

“Talk to me, Wilbur! I used to think that you were my best friend, that you cared about me!” 

“I do!” 

“Then tell me what’s wrong!” Wilbur can’t fight it anymore. He surges forward, grabbing John’s arms and pulling him into a deep kiss. He coaxes John’s mouth open with his tongue and deepens it. After a moment, Wilbur pulls back. John is looking at him with wide eyes, his naked chest heaving with quick, shallow breaths. 

Before he can say anything or before Wilbur can do anything stupid, he turns and runs out of the gym. 

_The ink flows down into a dark puddle_

  
The Black and White is big, and empty, and dark. He’s surrounded by an inky blackness, swirling all around him. It almost reminds him of the ink stain on his desk from all that time ago.

He walks around, feeling like he’s being pulled ahead. 

‘Hello there, Wilbur.” The voice he’s gotten used to being in the back of his mind sounds almost louder here, almost like it’s more real. 

“Who are you? What are you?” Wilbur calls out to the emptiness. 

“I am Wiggly. And I think you and I are going to be very good fwend-e-wends.” 

_How can I write love into reality?_

  
Wilbur wakes up in the infirmary, one of his hands cuffed to the bed railing. His head is swirling. He remembers going into the Black and White. He remembers Wiggly. But then, nothing. 

“You’re awake.” Wilbur turns his head and sees John sitting in a plastic chair to the side of the bed. 

“What happened?” Wilbur’s voice is hoarse, and he’s not sure why. 

“You came out of the Black and White, and it was like you were possessed. You started attacking agents, and they had to sedate you.” 

Wilbur doesn’t remember that, any of it. But honestly? He’s more curious as to why John is here now. Almost as if he could tell what Wilbur’s thinking, John clears his throat and shifts in the seat. 

“Wilbur, about that kiss…” He trails off. 

“We don’t need to talk about that.” Wilbur weakly tries to assure. 

“No, we do. I like you, Wilbur. I have for a very long time. Since I met you, really.” Are Wilbur’s ears deceiving him? Is John really saying what he thinks he’s saying? “And if you had said something, anything, before Xander and I got together. But-” 

“I get it.” Wilbur has to get him to stop. He can’t hear John tell him that they could have been happy if Wilbur hadn’t been such a coward. 

“I’m sorry.” John says softly. Wilbur doesn’t respond, turning his head away. John sighs and stands up from his seat, looking at Wilbur for a long moment before leaving the infirmary room, closing the door gently behind him. 

“Me too.” 

_If I can’t hear the sound of your heartbeat, what do you call love in your reality?_

  
Wilbur can’t stop thinking about John. John and Alexander, or Xander, Wilbur supposes, together. If he thinks about it objectively, they make a great pair. They’re both smart, hard workers, and Xander seems to make him really happy. 

What kind of person would Wilbur be if he tried to take that away from John? 

So what if he’ll never get to hold John, never get to fall asleep listening to his heartbeat? He’ll still be a great friend, a great mentor to him. That’s enough, right? 

It has to be. 

_And in your reality, if I don’t know how to love you_

  
‘I love you.’ John’s voice rings in Wilbur’s ears, repeating those three words over and over again. The words taunt him, making it worse because he didn’t say those words to him.

He had been walking through the hall when he heard the sound of John’s laughter ringing from somewhere. He knows that it’s none of his business, but hearing John’s laughter makes him lose his head. He follows the sound and finds himself eavesdropping on a conversation that is not meant for him at all. 

He can’t pull himself away. 

“Are you feeling better now?” Xander’s voice floats out from the room, and Wilbur hates the surge of anger that flares up within him.

“Yes, thank you.” 

“Anything for you.” They fall silent. Wilbur lingers for a moment longer before he moves to walk away. 

“I love you.” John’s words cause Wilbur to freeze. He can barely hear Xander’s ‘I love you too.’ due to the roaring in his ears.   
  
Wilbur takes off, not caring where he ends up, just needing to get away from here. His feet lead him to the portal room, and he stops, looking up at it. He knows what he needs to do. 

_I’ll leave you be._

The Black and White is exactly like he remembers. Big, empty, dark. 

No John. 

“Welcome back, Wilbur.” Wiggly’s voice floats all around him. It feels wrong, being called Wilbur. He feels like something in him has changed, like it’s broken. He can’t… he can’t be Wilbur anymore. It’s just not who he is. 

  
“Call me… call me Wiley.” He doesn’t know how, but the name just came to him. It feels right. It fits him. There’s no way for him to tell, but he can swear that Wiggly smiles. 

“Nice to meet you, Uncle Wiley.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on tumblr:   
> Ijustwantjohnmcnamaratobehappy


End file.
